You Always Want What You're Running From
by ryoku1
Summary: There was a ghost haunting the piano in the locked basement of the theater building. Or, more accurately, that was the rumor. Warning: Elliot as subtext.
1. Chapter 1

There was a ghost haunting the piano in the locked basement of the theater building. Or, more accurately, that was the rumor.

The said piano, was tucked away in the theater department's basement, collecting dust, likely with the unused, obligatory tower window combo that every theater department seemed to have stowed away somewhere for their amateur production of Romeo and Juliet. From all accounts, no one seemed to know how it had gotten down there, since it was -apparently- a full grand piano. The stairs leading down to the basement would not accommodate its size, and the elevator didn't go down to the basement, didn't even have a button for it, or even a hidden button that needed a key to get to. This also transversely made it impossible to take the piano out of the theater building's basement. If it was actually down there at all, which seemed to be up to debate.

But on late nights, when the theater students were working late into the evening to finish up a set, or when they were just goofing off behind the building, they reported that music could be heard coming from the locked steel door that led to the basement. Interestingly enough, by all official statements, there was no way for any sound to escape such a place. The basement was an old abandoned bomb shelter, built back when everyone was still afraid of the Russians dropping more than superior ballet and highly acclaimed literature on their doorsteps. It was built of concrete and steel and probably able to keep five people from turning into mutant ninja turtles should some form of nuclear fallout happen to pound on its locked door.

By all accounts, sound didn't escape from it, not now and not ever. You could get locked down there, and starve to death, because there wouldn't be a damn person to hear you screaming and pounding on the door.

Of course, by all official accounts, there actually wasn't a grand piano in the theater building's basement, because it simply couldn't be down there. There was no record of it. The music department had no word on the subject -other than to adamantly want it once it was mentioned that there possibly was a spare full grand piano somewhere on campus that they couldn't get their hands on. Yet, there it was, a haunted piano that played lovely music to scare the liberal arts majors dedicating their time to collage productions.

Of all the rumors he'd heard, Leo thought that certainly, this was one of the silliest. Music rumors, tended to have very rational, albeit boring, conclusions.

He was a logical, rational person, and like all good logical, rational people, he had a healthy disdain for things that embodied the unknown and the supernatural. Despite that very blatant statement, Leo Baskerville did seem to have a vested interest in the unknown and the supernatural. He enjoyed horror books and films, his favorite holiday was Halloween, at which time he always volunteers at haunted houses, and went through as many as he could find; he even traveling long distances to go see ones with higher production value. And when he had the time, he'd brighten his day by visiting his old orphanage, and scaring the small children that lived there. Lovingly of course; with his favorite mask and plastic butcher knife. He blamed all the Scooby-doo VHS tapes that someone had donated to the orphanage. Little did that good samaritan know that while he did save space in his attic, he'd inadvertently turned on a small child to scaring his fellows, and all manner of mysterious things that should all have logical explanations in the end.

This was not to say that Leo was at all inclined to believe in spooky things, just that he seemed to find a great deal of pleasure in seeking them out. In fact, his job consisted of finding, and writing about said spooky rumors from their highly prestigious, but arguably very haunted, Nightray University. The very haunted part might have played into why he'd picked it, but it did happen to have an excellent philosophy department as well, so there was that to consider, among other things, of course.

Leo worked for the weekly campus newspaper. At first he'd been stuck writing about local museum exhibitions, art galleries, and the occasional concert, all of which had been far more interesting than the piece he'd had to write on the changing trends in student eating habits, or which spots to stay away from at night if you wanted to keep your wallet. But all of those subjects were not what he really wanted to write. Despite his half finished degree in philosophy, Leo wanted to write horror. Guts and blood and hauntings and serial killers, and really, just any manner of frightening content would suffice. And once it had become obvious that he had a deep seated love for all things that would make a normal person's skin crawl, his boss had dismissively told him to check out the ghost sightings off in the aerospace tower. His part time career of writing about ghosts and rumors started there.

Leo fell in love with the project, largely because he was highly invested, and also because he already had a great deal of information on the subject. Affectionately called 'Humpty Dumpty' -yes, he'd been the one to name it- the shadowy figure of a man would appear at the top of the aerospace tower, and crash to the ground, inadvertently freaking out whatever drunk student happened to be trolling campus at an ungodly hour. One poor girl had even seen a body once, broken into pieces, with glowing eyes and blood. She'd been drunk, but that had sobered her quickly. She'd called 911, only to have the body reach out and grab her. Of course she'd screamed, and high tailed it, but when she returned later, the body had simply disappeared. She'd wandered over to inspect it again, and had heard an inhuman scream above her. She'd looked up, only to see the same body tumbling off the tower again, but this time it looked like the body was going to fall on top of her; she'd ran. When the EMTs arrived, they found no body, no indication that anything had happened, and were not amused. As far as Leo could see it, if the ghost existed, it obviously had a positively wicked sense of humor.

The article he'd written hadn't really disputed Humpty Dumpty's existence, because the more he looked into it, the more he enjoyed the story of it. He knew the ghost didn't exist, but if it did, it just liked harassing drunk college students at night, and that in and of itself was amusing. Leo was sure the traumatized girl did not agree with him, but he could forgive her for not seeing the beauty in it, or the humor. As someone who enjoyed scaring -harmlessly of course- Leo could appreciate Humpty Dumpty's style of it. By all accounts, he didn't show up for teachers -other than in one case, where she swore up and down she hadn't been drinking, and Leo knew she was lying- and only showed up in the early morning hours, usually between 2 and 4. The piece he'd written had simply given all of the information he could find.

The article had done so well, that he'd been granted a column, to be published every third week, about anything spooky he could dig up on campus. Such an honor was both a blessing, and a curse. The first time he'd written, he'd very much enjoyed it. The piece had been easy, and on some spiritual level -pun entirely intended- he'd thought of Humpty Dumpty as simply a weird guy who just enjoyed harassing students that were up way to late at night. Something he could relate to, on some levels. The article had been easy and fun to write, and obviously enjoyable to read, because there had been such a positive response to it. Nightray had attracted more of its student body by its bloody and gruesome past than Leo had first imagined.

The second article had been easy too. He figured that since it was going to become a regular thing, Leo would start from the beginning, so he had. He'd started with the Nighray curse, a very old, very silly little wives tale about the well endowed family that had started the university, and transversely, the university itself. The exact specifics of the curse were shrouded in mystery -seeing as curses didn't actually exist, and if they did, were sort of a personal thing- there were few actual records of it. The Nighray curse existed in mostly rumor and speculation, the worst of which starting with the Nighrays having to sacrifice their youngest child to the devil, and the least of which implied that all students with an N in their name were doomed to do poorly in PE classes. Anything of slight misfortune was blamed on the curse, as well as anything of huge misfortune.

To say the least, Nightray University had a fair share of horrible tragedies in its past, all of which were at some point or another, attributed to the curse. The most recent tragedy to be placed under the curses proverbial umbrella, had taken place 8 years ago, when the Nighray blood line, for very mysterious and gruesome reasons, all died. Before that, the curse had been mostly silly, spooky rumors about the reclusive and illustrious benefactors of the university. That was until the details of their untimely, tragic deaths had surged through the local papers. At that point, the curse had made a resurgence in popular thought among the campuses residents. The Nightray family had quite tragically all been hunted down, and murdered, from the oldest to the youngest, like a matryoshka doll loosing it's pieces one by one. Almost always a week apart, each member had been brutally murdered, one at a time, and always more gruesome than the last. But perhaps one of the oddest things about it, was that the Nightray family did not allow obituaries to be published in the papers, their small funerals were private, and literally no information about the crimes were ever released to the media. For all intensive purposes, for about two months, the illustrious Nightray family, all five children and parents alike, seemed to just thin, and then disappear. It was only months after the last had simply vanished from the public eye, that the local paper got wind of the story, and published what details they could dig up. And even then, those details had been vague and unsatisfying, to say the least, and that had only encouraged speculation and rumors to run rampant.

There were only two adopted Nightrays that continued to wander the halls of the living, but that was a side note for a different exposition. The article in question had taken Leo a long time, for a variety of reasons. Leo had done a great deal of research, both in the archives, and interviews, of the two remaining Nightrays -likely a huge mistake- and faculty and staff that had been around at the time of the Nightray deaths. It had been hard, dredging up old skeletons, but Leo had been even more invested than he had been on the first piece, so once he had done the research, the article had mostly written itself. And it had been a damn good article too. Painful to write at certain spots, but well worth the effort he'd put into it. It had talked about the various rumors involved with the Nightray curse, the past deaths attributed to it -and there were seeeeveral of those- and finishing up with the unsolved, unexplained, mysterious culling of the Nightray bloodline.

It had been a long article, five times his allotted slot, and even then, Leo had left out many fascinating details, and far too many personal ones as well. His boss had threatened to cut it up into pieces, but after reading it, grudgingly agreed that the weekly food reviews could wait until next week, and that the coverage of water polo could be considerably shortened. It was fair to say that Leo had poured his heart and soul into that article, and for his efforts, it had done even better than the one preceding it. The campus seemed to want gruesome, and mysterious works, and Leo couldn't help but be pleased with himself.

He'd reached the apex of his collage, column writing career, and it was all downhill from there.

His next project had been about some strange singing in the biology building late at night. Very creepy, eerie songs about chopping off heads and all manner of gruesome things. That had sounded promising, but when Leo had looked into it, it had simply ended up being the anthropology teacher. Dr. Barma liked to stay in her office late into the evening, twirling around in her lab chair, the white lab coat she always wore swirling around her, and her favorite head -yes you read that right, skeletal head- held lovingly in her arms. She'd named it after her favorite student, Oswald, and for whatever reason, she liked stroking and singing to it late at night. The sound would bounce around her office, before dissipating in the biology building, and the surrounding streets. It had spooked more than one student on their nightly trips home, but was not an excellent story.

The next one had been of a small child's ghost. The rumor stated that if you left a stuffed animal out, anywhere on campus over night, that the next day it would be ripped to pieces. The story was that some malevolent child spirit loved ripping them apart, or something like that. Another solid sounding story, but that had ended badly as well. As it turned out, Vincent Nightray -number one creep of the campus, hands down- had a strange, unexplainable urge to rip apart small plush toys every time he saw them. Being a Nightray, -one of the two pair set that remained- Vincent had full range of the whole campus, and for all intensive purposes seemed to have a cute plush toy radar, similar to how a predator could sense prey, but for adorable plush toys. It was weird, and really not something Leo could bring himself to publish. Vincent Nightray was weird, maybe mental, but that really didn't merit a story. He also didn't want to get kicked out of the university, which was something Vincent could very well do if he happened to dislike what Leo wrote.

He'd moved onto another eerie song rumor. This time, from the music department -who would have guessed. Lacie Baskerville -no relation; for whatever reason the last name Baskerville went through their town like a recessive gene- music student, had twin girls at home, who had a relatively early bed time. While her brother Oswald -yes, the one who the head was named after- stayed home with Lacie's girls, Lacie would make the late night walk to the music department, break in, and stow away in one of the practice rooms, which oddly, were not entirely sound proof. Just sound proof enough to make her voice sound distant and otherworldly. His research done, Leo had reported the break ins to the proper authorities -who did a whole lot of nothing- and did not write an article about it. It had been so similar to the one in the biology building, that Leo had almost dismissed it at the onset, and after he'd finished the leg work, wished he had.

Then there'd been the tarot card reader that had been far to accurate for her own good. It likely had more to do with the fact that tarot cards scared a lot of the students who came to Nightray University for the academics, and not the spooky back-story, but that went unsaid. He'd looked into that too, but found Ada Vessalius to be an overly sweet girl trying to fund her eccentric hobbies, with different eccentric hobbies. Again, not story worthy.

Those were only a few of the highlights in his unsuccessful quest for article worthy material. There had been a litany of very poor rumors and ghost stories that had taken even less time, and had given even less satisfying conclusions. The only good part about his various failures was that they took very little time to look into, and even less time for Leo to realize they simply were not worth his time. And though they had expanded his knowledge of the odd characters that a cursed school attracted, he didn't waste a whole lot of time on them.

He desperately needed a story this time. He'd pushed back his submission date three times, and the piano in the theater building was really all he was coming up with. So, reluctantly, Leo had decided that he was going to make the mysterious piano story, work. One way, or another. His part time career depended on it.

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	2. Chapter 2

Leo had debated how exactly to go about his investigation of the haunted piano. His first step, had been to speak with the theater director, an eccentric woman who seemed interested in his hair for some reason -likely because she thought it made him edgie, when really, it just meant he was lazy and escapist- but quickly slowed down when Leo actually brought up why he'd come to see her. He wanted to see the basement. His first order of business was to confirm that the piano was even there at all, because, as he had already discovered, all official records implied that it was not.

The professor looked at him inquisitively, before a bright spark came to her eyes, and she recanted how she'd heard he was doing a piece on the ghostie -her word, not his- piano in the basement. Despite her initial interest in what he was doing, she sheepishly admitted that she didn't have a key. She made up some strange story about how she misplaced it, and how that hadn't gone well with the higher ups, so they hadn't supplied her with a replacement. But something in how she kept looking away, and how mousy she became, made Leo suspicious. But, regardless of what she wasn't telling him, it became painfully obvious that she was not going to let him into the basement.

His second avenue, was one Leo really did not want to take. Vincent Nightray, resident campus creepo, had keys to everything, and they kinda sorta had a friendly relationship that had, at some point, turned inappropriately sexual at times? It was weird, Vincent was weird, and transversely, that definitely meant that Leo was weird. There was no doubt in his mind that he could convince Vincent -with a bribe of small adorable stuffed animals to disembowel- to give him the key he needed to get into the theater basement. But, Leo didn't want to do that. Owing Vincent things was sort of a really horrible idea, because when Leo owed Vincent things, he got even stranger; Vincent was secretly the neediest person Leo had ever met. It entailed more texts than normal, -and they texted on and off every single day, and always about nothing, so adding MORE text to that was a strain on Leo's anti-social tendencies- movie nights when Vincent knew Leo had things to do, and cuddling. That all seemed nice and good, if only Vincent wasn't such a weirdo. It also certainly bore mentioning that Vincent NEVER stayed awake through movie nights. Five minutes into a film he was out like a light, and very much on top of who ever -it was always Leo- he happened to be cuddling with. It was disgustingly cute every time, until his shoulder or his arm went numb, because Vincent was much larger than he was. And, as mentioned before, said movie night was always when Leo had something he needed to be doing. Somehow, Vincent got a rise out of making him pick one thing over the other, and when he owed Vincent, it was hard not to pick him over whatever obligatory thing Vincent was preventing him from getting to. In such a context, the fact that Vincent always fell asleep might have seemed like a godsend, but it wasn't! When he'd try to sneak away, Vincent would cling, as if Leo was just some teddie bear -which in context of Vincent, was a horrifying thought- trying to get away.

No, things were a lot more stable between them when Leo didn't owe Vincent anything. So even though he could ask Vincent for the key, Leo made the chief decision not to. Instead, he decided on a more hands on approach.

The hands on approach entailed sneaking into the theater building before it was locked for the night, and setting up camp outside of the basement stairs. To put it dramatically, - pun again intended- Leo was on a stakeout. As with all his other music related rumors, it had always been a simple waiting game. He'd hung out in the biology department until the singing came, and then went to investigate. The music building singing had worked the exact same way. Leo had no reason to think that this would be any different.

Leo was going to wait, all night if he had to, for someone to come waltzing in or out of the basement, and for the music that would either confirm, or deny that there was anything suspicious going on down there.

Around 10 o'clock, he'd picked his ideal spot, pulled out a book and book light -essential equipment for any occasion- and some snacks from his hand me down back pack. He also had a five hour energy, stored away in one of the pockets, in the very likely chance that he did get drowsy around 4 in the morning. Sometimes, Vincent texted him around that time, just because he knew that was when Leo would be getting drowsy, if he was still up, and that vibrating in his pocket always startled him. But that was only sometimes, Leo had learned not expect consistency from Vincent.

But, at approximately three in the morning -several texts later about orange sherbet vs pineapple sherbet vs the elusive mint sherbet that Vincent insisted existed at all- and seven chapters from where he'd started, Leo heard it. He heard a piano. A gorgeous, beautiful, perfectly tuned piano, reverberating in his head, like a fly buzzing into his ear to lay it's eggs in his brain. It was clear, crisp, and played by expertly trained hands. All of these facts occurred to Leo, but there was only one realization that solidified in his head.

The song was titled Statice, and had been his 14th birthday present.

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	3. Chapter 3

Leo had met Elliot when they were both 13, and like a whirlwind, the obnoxious Nightray had spun him around until he couldn't see straight, then simply dissipated, leaving Leo devastated in his wake. Elliot Nightray was the closest thing Leo had ever had to a friend and companion. They'd argued, and teased one another, but they'd also read and played piano together. Elliot had even agreed to watch those dumb Scooby-doo VHS tapes that Leo hadn't outgrown yet. Before Elliot, Leo had kept to himself, reading and playing the piano; alone. He was reclusive by nature, and didn't get along with the other kids at the orphanage at all. They called him names behind his back, and if they got him riled up enough, he'd hurt them for it. He didn't make friends, and hadn't wanted them, but Elliot simply hadn't taken no for an answer. Elliot had always said that he admired Leo for his honesty, but Leo had never understood that. It was Elliot who was honest, with his emotions and his statements. Sure, some of that honesty was wrapped up in propriety and class, but Elliot was Elliot, and if he had something to say, he'd say it. He was obnoxious, that really was the only way to put it, but over the short time they'd known each other, Leo had grown to adore it. Elliot was like a book, fascinating and so very different from his mundane, everyday life: an escape. Leo had wanted to read every page over and over again.

Without warning, Elliot stopped coming. He'd visited regularly before that, sneaking out of his private school to spend time at the orphanage, even long after his family had picked children to adopt. But all visits, all contact, from the whole family, stopped completely.

Bitter and unhappy, Leo had simply accepted that he'd never really meant anything to Elliot. He had been abandoned, there was no simpler way to put it, and he angrily continued his daily life within the orphanage. He reverted back to his reclusive ways, but this time, it was worse. He didn't want to have anything to do with the other children, kept entirely to himself, and didn't even speak up to demean the others -something he had previously been known for. And when they called him names behind his back, he didn't punish them for it. He wanted nothing to do with any of them, he became more closed off, more reclusive, more of an outcast than ever before, and he stopped playing the piano. It drew the other kids to him, they loved listening to it, but every time he sat down at those black and white keys, he thought about how Elliot's light hair next to his dark, and he wanted to smash things, hurt people, and cry; all at once if possible. So he stopped. He abandoned the piano, like Elliot had abandoned him. He couldn't stand the thought of playing alone any more, and that made him feel pathetic and desperate.

He did write two letters to Elliot though. The first one had been inquisitive, hopeful, positive, and filled with excuses and inquiries as to why Elliot hadn't been back. He'd wanted to make it angry, but in the end, he'd thought of all the reasons, all the good reasons, that Elliot could have had to be away, and decided that he would give him the benefit of the doubt. His optimism and hope turned against him, when Elliot hadn't written back, or shown up in a month's time. So he sent another, and that one was angry and aggressive. Leo didn't remember using the word 'abandoned' because it was such an ugly, needy, disgusting word, but he had used betray. He'd cursed and accused, and gotten angry, raw and horribly vulnerable, and he's wiped the angry tears away, before they could drip onto the paper. He never got a response, from that letter either, and that simply confirmed to him that he had been a fool for thinking that a person like Elliot would ever have a vested interest in him. It had been abandonment, plain and simple. And Leo had kept that flame of rage and bitterness in his heart for four years, living around the fact that he had been left, that he'd thought he had something special with Elliot and had been wrong.

At 18, Leo had started thinking about Universities, and in his interest for the strange and gruesome, he'd come across a small blurb somewhere, about how all of the Nightrays had died; all of them. It was only then, after four years of feeling like shit, that Leo realized that Elliot hadn't just walked out and not come back intentionally. Elliot had died, and Leo felt worse than shit. His love turned hate had been unfounded, the curses and indignation that had piled up over the years, all misplaced. Elliot had not abandoned him at all, he had died. He'd never even gotten those letters, and Leo's own selfish belief that Elliot had simply lost interest, had only prolonged him from finding out.

He'd never looked into the details of how Elliot had died, -past looking at a date, which confirmed that Elliot had died shortly after his last visit. Even though he'd obsessed over Elliot for years, something in Leo had just refused to spend more and more time looking into it. Maybe because he had obsessed over it on his own for so long. He imagined it had just been a horrible accident, something foolish that the impulsive boy had done, something, that if given the chance, Leo could have averted. Leo felt that the pain of knowing, exactly what had happened, would push him over the edge of obsession, and into a clinical depression. He didn't want to think about how he could have stopped it, didn't want to consider that he could have been there to say good bye, didn't want to think of Elliot possibly dying alone; all of the variables that came with 'knowing' had threatened to drown him. Leo liked to think he tempered Elliot's raging emotions, but that was likely wishful thinking, and in the end, a highly destructive thought. Besides, looking into what had happened, meant that Elliot was really dead, and not just sitting on a beach somewhere with his oodles and oodles of money.

The article about the Nightrays, had been a rare opportunity, something Leo never would have imagined. For eight years, Elliot had been a presence in his life, and he'd never grieved for that. Leo had never let it go, held on bitterly, and then desperately. The article, he thought, would be a way to let the presence of Elliot Nightray rest in peace, and stop haunting him. He wanted to move on with his life.

While researching for the Nightray article, Leo had come across Elliot's autopsy report. It was the only one available to be viewed. All other members of the Nightray family had ongoing -stagnant- investigations, but Elliot Nightray, the youngest of the line, had been different. His autopsy had stated, plainly, the cause of death. Suicide.

Leo had tried to avoid thoughts of Elliot Nightray since the boy had walked out of his orphanage eight years ago, but of course, he failed on almost a daily basis. From his interactions with Vincent, to being able to play the piano again without crying. But Leo had thought, that his obsession with Elliot, had been a functional one. The world wasn't going to wait for him to get over his dead best friend hang-ups, so he'd kept going, burying his anxieties and grief in shallow graves, that always resurfaced. But that one word, that one simple word on an old yellowing piece of paper, written in smudged black ink, had sent Leo spiraling into something akin to a functional depression.

He'd never buried Elliot, never had wanted to, emotions and pain remerged like a stain he'd never get out, and it was painfully obvious that Leo never got over it. He'd just kept moving, and never dealt with what exactly the death of Elliot Nightray had meant to him. The effect that word had on him was undeniable proof of his inability to really get past it. He simply went round and round, some days trying to ignore it, and others where he simply couldn't. Even if the actual event had taken place eight years ago, Leo couldn't just let the corpses rot. Couldn't leave well enough alone.

Suicide; that had to be wrong. Leo could imagine Elliot having a horrible accident -though he actively tried never imagining Elliot and failed- but never suicide. Never. Not in a million years. It was an unacceptable scenario, the police had gotten it wrong. Elliot Nightray, would never kill himself. Even after four years of convincing himself that he didn't really know Elliot, that their time together had been brief and unimportant, Leo knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Elliot would not have done that. He wouldn't have committed suicide, and it tore Leo apart that people who hadn't known him, would think that.

That shred of disbelief, that undeniable, nagging voice in his head that had said "No" when he read that word, had been soft, but firm. And every time he'd thought about it -a disturbingly large amount of time since writing the article- that voice had been just as firm. A simple, nonnegotiable, No.

As Leo found himself pounding on the door of the Nightray's mansion, at 3:30 in the morning, that soft, firm voice, had become a torrent. A screaming sound in his head, uttering over and over "I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!" because he _had_ known. It had been wrong, all of it. He didn't know what "all of it" meant, but he was going to get to the bottom of it. Vincent had the key to the theater basement, and come hell or high water, Leo was going to get down there, tonight, because he knew. He knew that Elliot was down there, and he wouldn't rest until he confirmed it.

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	4. Chapter 4

Gilbert was a light sleeper, which really didn't bode well for him in general. Someone was loudly banging on the great double doors, that were the threshold of the Nightray Mansion. Even from his room on the second floor, he could hear the constant banging, like an alarm clock he couldn't reach, the sounds bleeding together to make them sound inconsistent and harried. But the sound of the banging was coming from the front door, the 300 year old oak door reverberating around the open foyer of the manner, and flitting up the grand staircase, and then down the west wing hallway, to his room.

Gilbert hated being a light sleeper, one of the many regrettable crosses he had to bear. At least once a week he was kept awake by some sort of banging, or crashing, but tonight the culprit was an entirely new variable. Someone was at their door, at 3:41 in the morning. Trying to force himself to move quickly, Gilbert rose from his bed, shivering at the crisp autumn air that assaulted his toes the moment they emerged from beneath his warm blankets. He reached over for his slippers, and placed them on his feet, before ambling over to the other end of the room in a daze, and grabbing his ratty, plush robe, and covering himself in it. It would be unbecoming to be seen in his robe, but it would be even more unbecoming of the current head of the Nightray family to be seen in the bunny pajamas a friend had given him as a gag gift a few years back, so Gilbert figured the robe would be fine. Besides, he was the head, he made the rules. Even if it wasn't a new title, he still had a hard time wrapping his head around having so many decisions and choices to make.

Trying to force himself to be as awake as possible, Gilbert shuffled out of his bedroom, and traveled down the west wing hallway. Only four rooms in the Nightray mansion were heated at night, and the hallways were not on that list. He shivered, wrapped the plush robe around him tighter, and hurried through the hall, then down the main staircase of the house, the ominous eyes and sneer of some long dead Nightray, glaring down at him from the life size painting on the wall opposite the stair case, and transversely, the large oak door threshold, that kept the 'rif raf' out, as old Bernard Nightray had put it.

Gilbert didn't scoff outright at the thought, but his eyes did narrow as he carefully descended the large stair case, his hand lightly placed on the banister, following it's curve inwards and then outwards as the staircase widened at the bottom.

The banging hadn't stopped, but had certainly shifted from sounding frantic, to urgent. Gilbert absentmindedly wondered if who ever wanted in would stop if left alone, before dismissing the thought entirely. He hated leaving such things unresolved.

From where he stood, Gilbert could just make out a slight figure through the Nightray blue of the stain glass built into the large oak doors. At this hour, there were few people who would have the gall to bang on Nightray Manor's doors so brazenly. In fact, Gilbert could only think of a few. But when he unlatched the numerous bolts and bars that kept the door firmly shut, and opened one of the two doors, Gilbert was surprised to see that it was neither of the people he had expected.

Gilbert offered a confused, and annoyed look to the dark haired male in front of him, and rubbed at his temples. "Leo." he stated, as if to confirm who exactly it was at the door, despite seeing him for himself. "For Vincent?" The younger male looked harried, to say the least. His hair was messier than usual, his large glasses askew and dirty, and his mouth open in something that might have been fluster. Gilbert really didn't know what to make of it, other than that it was likely Vincent's fault. His younger brother was always brewing up some sort of trouble, no matter how Gilbert tried to convince him not to. Gilbert had learned a while back, to just let Vincent have his fun, and stay out of it. It wasn't an easy thing to do, but it was the only thing Gilbert had found that worked with his younger brother. When Leo didn't answer him, Gilbert narrowed his eyes, not necessarily in irritation, but more in response to being awoken so unceremoniously. "I think he's asleep."

Leo didn't answer him. Instead, his raised fist slacked and slid down to his side, and his mouth clamped shut. Gilbert had always thought Leo was a strange person, hiding behind his hair and glasses. Gilbert had been struck at how closed off Leo was from the first day he saw him. Leo was odd, but Gilbert was hardly one to talk. Just as with everything, it was best not to throw stones in glass houses. And, honestly, Leo was probably the best thing that'd happened to Vincent, in a long, long time. Shaking his head, Gilbert let his posture lax, before nodding his head towards the direction of the west wing. "Go-" Gilbert was struck with then untamable urge to yawn, and the o of the word stretched out as he reached up to cover his gaping mouth, before continuing. "on. You know where his room is." It was strange, having Vincent's friend (?) banging on their door so late at night, but Vincent was strange, and Gilbert wasn't about to get involved with it. He had enough on his plate already, and Vincent had always been more than capable of taking care of himself.

With the statement out there, Gilbert slowly turned, and headed back to the stairs. His bed was a wonderful idea; he didn't get to many nights to just sleep, and though he did prefer his other residence, his bed in Nightray Manor was unparalleled in comfort, sleeping in it was a more appealing thought than he liked admitting. He heard Leo's shoes click on the slate colored marble of the foyer, before the sound changed to the padding of his feet on the lush red carpet that stretched from the entrance way, all the way up the stairs. Gilbert paused, to turn his head just slightly, so that he could partially see Leo, still standing awkwardly in the entrance way.

"Lock it." was all Gilbert said before continuing up the stairs, through the west wing's cold hallway, and back into his warm room, and his even warmer bed.

-\|/-


	5. Chapter 5

Leo had expected Vincent to answer the door, and had been entirely dumbstruck when it had been his older brother, Gilbert. That had allowed him a moment of shock at the fact that he had entirely flown off the handle, and had banged on someone's door at 3:30 in the morning. That was certainly more than unreasonable, but Gilbert was way too nice to outright say that, and to hands off to ask questions and get involved.

What it did do, was give him a moment's pause to try and collect his thoughts into something coherent. He hadn't really been thinking, so wrapped up in what was down in the theater basement, that he'd entirely lost himself in what he had to do next. He hadn't thought clearly, and with the sudden awareness that struck him, Leo seized the opportunity to give his situation some serious thought. Something in the theater basement knew how to play Statice, a song that Elliot Nightray had given him as a birthday present. Leo had always thought that meant he had the only copy, but now that he thought about it, that could have been entirely wrong. For all he knew, Elliot had published the damn thing, and it could be in any number of piano books around the world by now. The thought annoyed him, but it made far more sense than Elliot Nightray playing Statice at three in the morning, eight years after his death, in the locked basement of the theater building, on a piano that wasn't supposed to be there.

That was certainly a more logical explanation than the one that his brain has instantly jumped to. Because, for that period of time, between hearing Statice and banging on Nightray Manor's door, Leo had allowed himself to think that somehow, Elliot was down there, playing the song that they'd shared together. In his delusional state, it had even sounded like it had been played in Elliot's style, the pace just a hair faster than it should be, crisp and measured, but sped up, like Elliot always did. Leo had been annoyed by that when they first started playing together, but he'd grown used to adjusting to the fast tempo Elliot always seemed to set.

But his mind had been in a haze. Elliot couldn't have played that song, and certainly not at that very moment. It didn't make any logical sense, and the wave of remorse that crashed into him as he realized his folly, was enough to make him want to walk home and hide under his covers for a week. Elliot was still dead, and it was cruel, and painful to think otherwise. That didn't mean that Leo wasn't going to get to the bottom of that basement, because he most certainly was -he still had a column to write- but it did shatter any pointless illusions of who, or what he was going to find down there. Elliot was still dead, and Statice wasn't a song that only he and Elliot had known. Logic would always work out in the end, even if that nagging voice in the back of his mind kept softly, but firmly stating "No"

-\|/-

Leo stayed downstairs in the foyer, contemplating what he should do, and chiding himself for acting so impulsively. It was unlike him, and very unbecoming. He'd almost turned tail and left, but then realized that if he did, he would leave Nightray Manor unlocked, and that wasn't right either. Now that he was there, he was most certainly stuck.

He'd resolved to simply dwell in the foyer, taking a seat in an old, blue plush chair, and thinking about his next move. In his haste, he'd abandoned his belongings in the theater building. That was regrettable, because he would very much like to have his book and book light at that exact moment. It would certainly be a comfort, because Leo had always found Nightray Manor to be stifling, and more haunting than he'd ever admit. His research into the Nightray curse had shown him that a great many people had died in Nightray Manor. Some of relatively mundane things -disease, old age- but many were not mundane in the least. All of the Nightray murders that had taken place eight years ago, had taken place there, and before that, the Manor had its fair share of unsavory ends.

Suicides, murders, poisonings; all manner of gruesome ends. Even some tortures, but the details about those were obscure and hard to corroborate. Leo had dismissed the thought of Elliot committing suicide, but when he's started to spend time in Nightray Manor, he'd wondered if the mansion itself, had committed the deed. It certainly wouldn't be as obvious as that Monster House movie, but Leo could see a house developing some sort of self, with so many misfortunes taking place within it.

Nightray Manor was likely one of the most haunted houses Leo had ever been in, and though he tended to dismiss such claims, it was hard to ignore how eerie and unnerving the mansion was. If he paid attention, he could hear the whistling of the wind, the creaking of the house, and the silence that echoed around him. And then there were the paintings; large, glorious, horrible paintings. Ones of every Nightray that had ever lived here, no doubt. All littered in the various wings and bed rooms and guest rooms, and drawing rooms, and stables, and towers; dead, soulless eyes looking at him. Leo made a point of keeping to only a few rooms in the Nightray Manor, when he did venture into it, so as to keep away from the paintings. He had an irrational fear of finding one of Elliot, soulless, dead, and unmoving, in clothing that he would have never normally worn, looking stoic and prince like. He didn't know what he'd do if he ever did come across that painting -likely nothing but stare- but Leo hadn't wanted to find out, and that sentiment was only enforced by how irrationally he'd acted that night.

He was berating himself, when he heard it. A knocking. A steady, soft knocking. At first, Leo had simply dismissed it as a sound of the house, for whatever reason. Old houses made noises, the orphanage had, and Leo had simply gotten used to it. He imagined that Nightray Manor was just the same, and tried to leave it at that. But the sound continued. It was still soft, but it was consistent, and the sound reverberated around the great vastness of the entrance way. The longer it continued, the more uneasy Leo felt, and he couldn't tell anymore if the shivers running down his back was from the cold, or from the unmistakable feeling, that something, somewhere, wanted into, or out of, Nightray Manor.

Then there were footsteps from upstairs, and Leo wiped his head around to see who was coming down the stairs. To the best of his knowledge, it could only be one of two people. Only two people inhabited this large, lonely, mansion, and Leo was positive that both of them should have been asleep at that point. Somehow, he anticipated one of the paintings coming to life, and an old dead Nightray in extravagant clothing stepping out of the frame and coming down the stairs to kick him out of the house, because he didn't belong here, never had and never would.

But in the end, it was only Gilbert who emerged from the arching hallway of the west wing, his robe held, and tied firmly around his waist, and his slippers carrying him at a rapid pace. The adopted Nightray didn't even seem to notice him, until Gilbert was down the stairs, and headed off to the large arching door way to the left of the entrance way. But when he did spot Leo, Gilbert stopped, and turned. It was then that Leo noticed the small thing in his hand, and couldn't place it in the dim light. His eyes almost seemed translucent in the darkness, and from what Leo could tell, he looked concerned, or irritated, or confused. In the darkness it was hard to tell.

Leo could see the older man's mouth form into a deep, scowling line, before Gilbert spoke. "Up to Vincent's room." The severity of Gilbert's tone left no room for questions, but Leo couldn't help looking at what was in Gilbert's hand, he still couldn't figure out what the item was. Gilbert seemed to notice where his gaze lay, and shifted the item out of view, but before it was behind him, the item went through what little light was shining through the great stain glass of the door way. It was a gun, a small, shiny little pistol with a spinning chamber. And Leo found himself getting to his feet, and wandering up the stairs at what he would later call a very fast pace. When he reached the top of the stairs, he slowed, and hesitantly spared a glance down to see Gilbert, unmoving, watching him with those unnerving yellow eyes; stoic and scowling, like one of the Nighray paintings. Leo scurried down the hall and out of sight, and didn't look back.

When he did reach Vincent's room -unnerved and quite frazzled- Leo managed to gently rap on the door, before just twisting the knob and going in without being given entry. Just as Leo might have guessed, Vincent was sprawled out on the blue-green fainting couch, immobile and breathing slowed. As always, the beautiful mahogany four poster bed lay untouched, many adorable plush toys placed on top, waiting for their inevitable mutilation.

Not exactly sure what he should do, or how he should react to this situation, Leo decided -after much internal debate- that the bed would do. He did feel tired, so laying down was intrinsically appealing, but he felt he was probably to on edge to sleep. Still, he quietly padded his way over to the bed, and slipped under the bed's comforter and sheets, some unassuming toys falling down as he did. He took off his glasses, and placed them on the nightstand, and tried to go to sleep. But there were toys still on the bed, and their glassy dead eyes looked at him, the pale light from the window hitting them, and making their hallow stares unnerving. Leo scrunched up his face, and hurtled one across the room, before knocking the others off the other side of the bed.

With all eyes off him -Vincent, thank god, did not have any dead Nightray paintings in his room- Leo found himself still incredibly edgy, and the light of the moon filtering through the lightly parted drapes was not helping to ease his mind in the least. Either he needed the damn thing all the way open, so that he could see everything, or entirely closed. The suggestive shadows and low light would not do. Opening the drapes would get him an earful from Vincent in the morning -who for whatever reason seemed rather prissy about light in general- so the only other option was to close them fully. Taking care not to bump into anything -but still kicking and fumbling over dropped toys and throw pillows- Leo got out of the bed, made his way over to the window, and yanked the heavy drapes closed entirely.

On the way back to the bed, he tripped over something, but caught himself before he fell flat on his face. The curse that escaped his lips was involuntary though. He was happy that Vincent was a disgustingly heavy sleeper. He finally settled back into the bed, and tried to calm himself down. He forced his eyes closed, and tried counting the ticking of the grandfather clock in Vincent's room, like how normal people counted sheep, but it didn't seem to help. Even with that booming ticking, and the sound of the pendulum swaying that reminded him of a guillotine falling, he could still hear the knock, knock, knocking, of whatever wanted in.

-\|/-


	6. Chapter 6

Leo woke to light being splayed across him, and he winced at the brightness of it, even with his eyes closed. He groaned, and reached to pull the comforter over his head for more welcome darkness.

"Good morning Leo. It's time to get up." Came the irritatingly singsong voice of Vincent Nightray, and that gave Leo pause. As he contemplated why, exactly, he was being woken by Vincent of all people, the events from the previous evening hit him. Between the piano, and the mysterious knocking, and Vincent's older brother with a fucking gun, he'd had a highly disturbing evening. Without any more prompting, Leo found himself wide awake, blinked his eyes open, and pulled off the comforter with a great flourish.

Leo hoisted himself out of the bed, to realize that he'd even slept in his shoes. He'd entirely forgotten to take them off the night before when he'd crawled into Vincent's unused bed. He'd feel bad about it if it was anyone else's bed, but Vincent never used it, and they had a few maids that came by every day to straighten up things. Of all the people he knew, Leo felt the least bad about odd behavior around Vincent. To the blond's credit, Vincent seemed to give him a cursory once over, before that sticky smile spread over his face. "Had a rough night, perhaps?"

The answer was yes, but Leo knew he couldn't say that. He gave Vincent a look that probably read "YES YES YES YES" before settling his gaze down to the plush blue carpeting. If he mentioned Gilbert and the gun, Vincent would close him off. Vincent loved nothing more than his older brother, and Leo wasn't willing to test his loyalties just because they were sort of bedfellows a few times a week. Gilbert was flesh and blood, and sometimes, Leo felt like he was just an occasional treat. It wasn't even slightly equivocal, and there was no way he could bring it up without there likely being repercussions.

That left the whole Nightray Manor creepiness of last night off the proverbial table. Leo could live with that -he didn't want to become one of the long list of casualties of Nightray Manor- even if he didn't like it, but that did leave him with the theater basement thing to consider. And the moment he settled on it, Leo realized that he really did want that resolved, if for no other reason than to shut up that insistent voice in his head. He looked up at Vincent again, noticed the tilt of Vincent's head, and the dangling of his red earrings. Leo could tell right then and there, that Vincent was interested in what he had to say, even if he always masked his interest in that persistent impartiality.

Leo schooled his face into something impassive, and tapped his foot on the carpeting. "You could say that. I spent most of the evening in the theater building."

Vincent gave him an odd little look in response, before turning to wander over to the joined bathroom. "It's locked at 11. Being a little delinquent, aren't we?" Vincent gave him a little smile, before opening the bathroom door and wandering in without closing the door behind him. "Preparing for another article?" The sound was a little more muffled with a wall between them, but Vincent emerged from the bathroom, a more gentle smile on his face, and a hair brush in his hand.

Leo had enough good sense to look displeased, trying to keep the pout of his face, but he nodded in confirmation. "Something about a piano."

The blond made his way over to the bed, and gently pushed Leo so that his back was facing Vincent, before taking a seat on the bed himself. "And what did you find?" One of Vincent's large hands settled on Leo's shoulder for just a moment, before the blond brought up the brush, and gently started running it through Leo's frazzled hair. For whatever reason, Vincent loved combing Leo's unruly mop of hair. Leo tolerated it.

Leo took a deep breath, before beginning his statement. "Mysterious piano music late at night from the basement. That's most of it, but there are no records of a piano in the basement." He heard Vincent hum, and knew it was confirmation that a piano was not suppose to be down there. "Music rumors are the worst though. You remember Lacie and Barma." He couldn't see Vincent shaking his head in confirmation, but he could imagine it.

"I do." Was the passive response he got instead, as Vincent softly worked through the tangles in his dark hair. He could feel the back of Vincent's fingers on his neck, and it gave him slight pause.

When he did start again, he felt more even, calmer than when he'd started. "I heard the music myself. It was there, coming from the basement." There was a slight pause in rhythmic motion of Vincent's brushing, only a seconds pause between two crisp, staccato quarter notes, just for emphasis, but Leo caught it. "It wasn't from anywhere else. I followed it down the stairs and to the basement." That was a bold faced lie. He'd been in too much of a frenzy to even think that the music had come from anywhere else, but looking back on it, Leo was positive. It had only come from the basement.

He didn't get the hum of confirmation from Vincent, but the brushing continued at an even pace, like a metronome. "All basements on campus are locked. They're unsound. No one goes in, or out." The statement was in Vincent's default nonchalant tone, but there was something else to it as well, something that Leo couldn't place. Vincent hummed again. "I'm sure it was from somewhere else. There's nothing down in the basement of any of the campus buildings." Vincent paused his brushing, and chuckled to himself, before continuing. "Except for maybe some large rats."

Vincent's blatant dismissal mad him angry, but Leo filed away the feeling, and tried not to let it show. Instead, he turned around so that he was facing Vincent, and the blond couldn't brush his hair. "I know what I heard, Vincent. There's something down there, and unless you've got musical rats running around, it's human." Sometimes it was irritating that his glares didn't get past his thick mop of hair, but to look at Vincent, Leo was positive that his intent got across crystal clear.

To his irritation, Vincent simply gave him that slimy, sympathetic smile. "Maybe it is musical rats."

-\|/-


	7. Chapter 7

Despite the rocky start, the two of them had a very nice day together. It was a Saturday, so neither of them had classes -despite being the same age, Leo had never had a class with Vincent, which was both good and bad.

To start off the day, they both wandered down to the music building, and inhabited a practice room. Vincent hoisted himself up on the piano, alternating between having is back to the top of the piano, and laying down completely, or sitting with his back to the wall, feet dangling just out of Leo's playing radius. Leo spent about an hour practicing. As always, Vincent was quiet until he'd finished playing, and then he'd give comments, or just let the silence linger. Leo was used to having an audience when he played - the children at the orphanage had all gathered around obnoxiously- and found it increasingly difficult to practice the piano on his own, without someone around. For all of his strangeness, Vincent was a very good listener, and Leo was far more comfortable playing with him around than without. He'd never even thought about it before he'd left the orphanage for collage, but once he had, Leo realized he hated playing by himself. It had just felt wrong, unnatural, and he'd shied away from it.

Oddly, it had been Vincent who'd encouraged him to pick it up again, bugging him about it until Leo had grudgingly admitted why he'd stopped. He'd expected Vincent to laugh, to just start bawling at how pathetic that had sounded, but he hadn't. Instead, he'd offered a smile that was sort of nice, and volunteered his time to sit, and listen. The time away from the instrument, oddly, hadn't dulled his fingers much, and he fell right back into the songs, melodies, and familiar rhythms that he'd played so often at the orphanage. He hadn't felt like something was missing while he wasn't playing, but now that he was doing it again, Leo wondered how he'd ever lived without it.

Vincent had mentioned once that there was a piano in Nightray Manor that he could play, a full grand piano, always kept tuned and collecting a sad amount of dust in misuse, but Leo couldn't bring himself to even consider playing it. Playing music in Nightray Manor was difficult to think of in and of itself, let alone the other implications of that accumulating dust.

Instead, he preferred the dented, abused, slightly out of tune, well used upright pianos that littered the small, not quite sound proof, practice rooms of the music building. Leo had always played on an upright, old, used, and loved despite its flaws, piano. A well used piano always just seemed happier, even if the sound output would never compare to a pristine, grand piano - doubtlessly like Elliot's was.

Playing was a nice way to start the day, both invigorating and calming in equal strokes, which was something Leo realized he desperately needed to focus his thoughts. It was already around one in the afternoon when Vincent had woken him, so when Leo had finished up his practice, it was around three, and they were both quite hungry. They decided -after much debate, which really wasn't a debate because Vincent was impossible to negotiate with, and simply refused to even entertain the thought of liking sushi- they decided on a burger place not too far away from campus. Definitely within walking distance.

Since it was on the way, they popped back into the Nightray Manor, the first reason being that there was no way Leo was letting Vincent get away with pretending to leave his wallet at home and not paying for his fair share, and the second because there was a pair of scissors Vincent wanted repaired at a shop near the restaurant. In the daylight hours, the Nightray Manor was not nearly as creepy as it was at night, and Leo admitted only to himself how foolish he'd been about the whole thing, but still, when Vincent wandered up the stairs, Leo didn't waste any time following him. He'd had enough of loitering in the foyer for at least a month.

They didn't run into Gilbert, which Leo found he immensely thankful for, but was not inherently surprising. Gilbert spent most of his time away from Nightray Manor. As the current head of the Nightray family -a title Vincent swore his older brother detested- Gilbert seemed to have a lot of responsibilities that kept him very busy from day to day, and a place he preferred to stay at that remained entirely unaffiliated with all things Nightray -that seemed to include Vincent, something that Leo found bugged him. It was rare to see Gilbert at all, which was why it had been so odd for him to answer the door the night before.

Leo had expected Vincent to answer, it was always Vincent alone in that huge, suffocating house. The first time Vincent had really mentioned it, Leo hadn't liked the thought of Vincent all alone in such a dreadful place, and that had probably been the first indication that he might have been a little interested in Vincent at all. Other than his name being Nightray, which was a possibility Leo was not even remotely interested in entertaining. Now that they spent more time together, and he'd seen more of Nightray Manor, his unease at the thought of Vincent actually living in such a place, was only redoubled. In some highly irrational sense, Leo blamed the house for Vincent's eccentricities - just like he blamed the house for Elliot, but that was a topic he wasn't thinking about.

As with all things, Vincent didn't rush in finding anything. He had a perpetual air of being unconcerned with anything, and in all fairness, it was usually very annoying. Leo would have liked to be able to rile him up, but Vincent didn't do that well either. If he was angry, it didn't show in how he looked, or his physicality, but he was sharper, more cutting, and more likely to say something very, very cruel. Elliot had felt like an open book, easy to read: emotional, with his feelings written all over him. In comparison, Vincent was a locked diary, with pages littered with statements that contradicted one another, just to trip you up should you somehow be able to unlock the quadruple pad lock and the two separate number combinations that randomized twice daily.

Leo wasn't actually a very patient person, but he'd grown more patient in his not quite dating relationship with Vincent. He supposed that was a good thing, even if the blond could be entirely infuriating. Eventually -after flitting around the room like a lazy moth- Vincent did end up finding his dulled scissors, and his wallet. Leo made sure to watch as Vincent tucked his wallet into his right side pocket -no getting out of paying for his share today. Leo was living off of scholarships, his meager earnings from writing columns -he got paid by the column, so he hadn't gotten paid in several weeks- and student loans that were going to bleed him dry for 30 years after he graduated, he didn't need to be paying for a spoiled brat who just liked being treated to things. Leo thought it made Vincent feel special to be paid for; Leo thought it made it made him feel poor -which he was- so it was a conflict of interest.

In all fairness, Vincent usually made it up to him, but Leo was sort of on a one meal a day basis anyway, and Vincent surprisingly ate a lot -for a spoiled brat who got to eat all that he wanted, whenever he wanted, Leo supposed it wasn't really all that surprising. Again, in all fairness, when Leo was hungry and didn't have the money, he went to Vincent, so it probably wasn't fair to be so harsh, but Leo rationalized that his criticism was all lovingly. And that Vincent Nightray could take his griping.

They left the manor, Leo pushing the pace a little, because he had a hard time distancing himself from the night before, and he really didn't want to just happen to run into Gilbert. But once they were outside, they slowed down. Leo tended to walk relatively slowly, and Vincent abhorred almost any physical activity, and thus was as slow as molasses unless Leo physically pushed him, which only seemed to encourage Vincent to be contradictory. Vincent never seemed to work at anything, something that perpetually annoyed Leo, not to mention that he never seemed to take an active role in his own life. Every time they went to a restaurant, Leo had to order. Vincent didn't make decisions about food, or drinks, or anything, and that drove Leo nuts. It always made him feel like he was dating a yes man, or someone who just didn't care about most normal things, and that was irritating. Again, lovingly, of course.

On the walk, they continued their conversation about sherbet that they'd been texting about the night before, and Leo found it highly suspicious that the basement, or details about why exactly he'd been sleeping in Vincent's bed never came up. It wasn't uncommon for him to come over, but it was very uncommon for him to stay. Despite the fact that Nightray Manor had everything he could possibly want -a library of its own, a grand piano, a computer- Leo spent a decent amount of his time within it either leaving or coming. If someone was staying over anywhere, both of them seemed to prefer Leo's small little dorm room filled with the musty smell of piles and piles of stacked library books, no tv, no computer, lots of blankets to hid under -a personal pastime, and one Vincent called nesting, which Leo hated- and a single bed that made sleeping together very difficult. It wasn't uncommon for Vincent to pack a bag -with his laptop- to stay over. Vincent had clothes stashed away somewhere Leo hadn't been able to find -his room wasn't exactly clean, so it wasn't surprising Vincent had found a place to just stow clothes that Leo couldn't locate- and a toothbrush. It had sort of been a point of contention when Leo noticed Vincent dropping off said toothbrush for the first time, but after contemplating what exactly that would mean from then on, Leo decided he didn't really want to press the issue.

Transversely, Leo staying at Nightray Manor for any real length of time, was rare. He had his regular comings and goings, but Leo was almost never caught alone there. It was to eerie, with too many dead eyes watching him, and so much blue. That same Nightray blue that Leo hadn't even known was Nightray blue when he saw it for the first time in Elliot's eyes. It was ironic to think that he'd think of that color with such unease now, but it just went to prove how things changed.

Leo was suspicious that Vincent wasn't even prodding him for the whys of the night before, but he let it go. It suited him fine if Vincent wasn't going to bring it up. By the time they'd reached the restaurant, their conversation had evolved -or arguably devolved- into what books Leo was reading, a secret Leo always tried to keep closely guarded. Vincent was not an avid reader, in fact, he hardly read anything at all, except porn. Apparently, he liked written porn, but that was for another discussion. No, Vincent didn't particularly care for reading, but he was always avidly interested in what Leo was reading, and Leo was always reading. The problem was, that the minute Vincent knew, he'd pull out that little smart phone of his, and get an in-depth, spoiler latent summary, and then nonchalantly give his opinion, usually spoiling the whole plot in the process. Leo, hated it. The whole point of reading a book was to find out what was happening on your own. Giving out spoilers was a capital offense! So, he always kept the books he was reading out of sight, and tried never to divulged what exactly he was reading. The problem with that was that Vincent wanted to know, and noticed when he wasn't talking about it. That usually led to a fair amount of prodding, and every now and then, Leo would just give in and tell him. That day was one of those times.

As they walked into the door of the restaurant, and sat down, Leo could see the glow of Vincent's phone under the table, and glared. Never mind that his glares were ineffective due to the mop of unruly hair in his direct sight. But, to Leo's surprise, when Vincent put the phone back in his pocket, he looked up, smiled, and simply said "Let me know when you finish it." It was weird. Good, but weird. Vincent liked getting a rise out of everyone, or maybe he just did it instinctively and didn't care. But that was a deliberate attempt to not irritate him, and coming from Vincent, it was a very, very strange occurrence. Vincent was likeable, but in an irritating way. Like an adorable pet your room mate brought home, without asking and that you were totally against having. It was like that.

Leo was about to say something, comment on the strange streak of consideration, when the waitress arrived and handed out menus. But dismissively, Vincent told her that they were ready to order already, and let Leo order for the both of them. Leo usually ordered Vincent a Vanilla shake, but this time, he chose Chocolate. It was sort of just one of those things. The blond actually didn't like Vanilla, but he was to insistent that Leo order for both of them to put up any fuss about it, so Leo always did it. They kind of pushed and pulled on each other, so it worked out. But Vincent actually did like Chocolate, and the order had been out of his mouth before Leo could really think of why he'd done it. The waitress took the order and walked off without another word.

His reward was a smile significantly less slimy than usual. Almost warm, which was saying something from cold, clammy Vincent Nightray.

Before Leo could really come up with any sort of explanation as to why he was being so nice, or ask why Vincent was, the blond had already started talking. "Leo, forget about the basement rumor." It wasn't a mean statement, but Leo hadn't been expecting it. He might have been willing to consider it in other circumstances, but that voice was still back there in his head. His life was in tune to a mantra of soft, evenly spaced 'no's and that was something Leo needed to fix. He'd been thinking of Elliot all damn day, and he needed to put this to rest. He was going to say as much, when Vincent spoke again. "I know of a few more ghosts in Nightray Manor you could do articles on." Vincent tilted his head, and tried to smile genuinely, but on him, it never seemed to look right when he tried to smile honestly.

"Don't worry about it." Leo fiddled with the napkin silverware combo on his side of the table. "I'll figure something out." He did mean it, but the sudden sharpness in Vincent's eyes was plenty of indication that the blond was onto him, and did not want to let the subject go. But Vincent surprised him; Leo blinked and that harshness, that sharp point, was gone. Perhaps he'd only imagined it. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about something." Leo unwrapped the napkin, leaving it curled on the table top, and taking the fork and knife in one hand each. "Last night, I heard this sort of-" He paused, and then tapped the end of the knife, and the end of the fork down on the table. "knocking." Leo looked up at Vincent, and was unnerved at how on spot their eyes were. He had no doubt that the blond was looking right at his eyes, despite the dark, messy hair in front of them, and it almost made him stop. "Musical, Nightray, rats?"

Leaving out Gilbert was important. Leaving out the gun was even more important. He did like Vincent -grudgingly- and he was pretty sure Vincent liked him, but again, he was not going to test that.

Vincent looked out the window, and hummed to himself, tapping a long finger on the side of his face in what might have been contemplation. If Leo hadn't known Vincent more intimately, he wouldn't have thought much of the posture, but to him, it spoke deep, deep contemplation. Vincent had things that he was going over, things he was going to say, and likely a great many more things he wasn't going to. Leo expected him to talk at some point, but as time continued to tick on, Vincent gave no indication that he was going to say anything.

Eventually, Leo gave up on Vincent voluntarily speaking. "You could have just told me it was a water pipe or something if it's some dark Nightray secret." Leo set the silverware down, placed his right elbow on the table, and cradled his head in his hand. He couldn't help the irritated look on his face, even if he'd wanted to. "Is there a Nightray monster somewhere that I need to be aware of when I need to take a shit?" He was only half joking.

Vincent turned his gaze back to Leo, but not his head, rolled his eyes, and returned to looking out the window. "The house isn't going to eat you. You watch far too many horror films."

Leo rolled his eyes too, just cause he could. "Who brings them for me? I don't own a TV."

"I've offered you one on numerous occasions." The topic was shifting, and Leo could see it in how Vincent's muscled loosened, his shoulders more relaxed. "I'm starting to think you like having to sit close together when we watch things on my laptop."

Leo rolled his eyes, again. This time slightly rolling his head with it so that Vincent knew exactly what he was doing. "Maybe I do. What are you going to do about it?"

The smile on Vincent's face was reassuring, but it wasn't enough for Leo to forget how Vincent had simply shut down to the whole conversation. The blond tilted his head, and Leo watched as his blond hair fell in curls at the movement. "Invite you to the theater after this."

He wanted to derail this. Leo wanted to get back to the other topic, wanted to know why he couldn't ask about it, why it was such a problem, why, why, why? Instead, he scoffed, and played along. "It's a waste of money, you always fall asleep." Vincent eased more into the conversation, and Leo knew they were done. He wasn't going to get anything. He was just going to have to let this go, for now.

Vincent waved is hand dismissively. "You just don't like other people. And public displays of affection." But even still, with Vincent obviously diverting, Leo could still see that sharpness in his one red eye. Vincent hated that eye, but Leo found it the more honest of the two.

Leo scrunched up his face, before answering. "You might be right on both counts, but that doesn't invalidate my original rebuttal."

Vincent hummed, and the sound was a rumbling deep in his throat, like something trying to get out. "But theaters are dark, and romantic."

Leo shrugged, and watched carefully. "My lights turn off just as well as theirs, and what's more romantic than a blanket fort and jump scares?" Leo was surprised to find that the smile he put on his face was genuine. He couldn't help this, so he would play along, and he'd enjoy it.

"Roses." Was Vincents prompt response, his eyebrows arched in challenge, and the tips of his lips tilted upwards in that playful, irritating way.

Again, Leo found himself scrunching up his face in displeasure. "I am not buying you roses."

Vincent raised one shoulder dismissively, and tilted his head, perhaps in contemplation. "You could."

If Vincent could have seen his eyes, he would noticed just how unamused they were at the statement. It wasn't like he had money to be wasting on useless things like that. "I'm not."

Vincent rolled his eyes again, this time far more animate than the last time, and settled his head on a fist, tilting his head so that his hair tumbled over his shoulders, and dangled in the air. "'Deliver Us From Evil' at your apartment tonight?"

Leo beamed at the thought. The movie was still in theaters, so obviously Vincent had planned ahead and downloaded it for him. How very thoughtful, Leo mused. "What's more romantic than nonbelievers and exorcisms?"

The look he got in response was highly unamused. "Roses."

-\|/-


	8. Chapter 8

After lunch, they went to the small shop nearby, and dropped off Vincent's favorite pair of scissors to be sharpened. They then made their way back to campus, and Nightray Manor. It was around six by the time they arrived - in large part to just how slowly Vincent sauntered about. But instead of simply having Leo follow him, as was customary, Vincent told him to wait outside, and that it would only take him a minute. He playfully commented on how the house couldn't eat him if he wasn't inside it, to which Leo huffed, but let him go. He leaned against the black wrought iron fence that surrounded the property, feeling out the curves of the iron, and looking up at the sharp points at the top of it.

It felt like it took Vincent to long, but Leo admitted that he'd always laced a decent amount of patience, even though he usually hid it well. When Vincent did arrive, he had his plain black messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Apparently, black and blue were the only appropriate colors for a Nightray to have things in. It was only after he'd thought it, that Leo realized it was sort of an ominous side note.

From there they took a leisurely pace across campus to the dorm Leo was staying at. The day itself hadn't been to cold, but with the sun waning, the shadows were out to play, and the chill with them. Leo found that both of them were walking closer together, and couldn't see a downside to it. That was until Vincent snaked his hand down to lace their fingers together, in what would certainly be called a couples hand hold. Leo's instant response was to pull his hand away. In private, they played cute little games of cuddling and hair combing and snuggling under blankets together, occasionally falling asleep together in blanket forts, and the occasional chaste kisses, that turned to touching and moaning, and other things, but never in public. Never.

Somehow, there had been an unspoken rule, that all things 'couple', was private. And Vincent had just voluntarily crossed that line. Perhaps worse, Leo had pushed him back across said line, and he was instantly ashamed for it. His gut reaction had been denial, but when had anything really been honest between them? It was strange, Vincent was strange, but the two of them had been even stranger than normal all day. Between musical rats, and roses, Leo didn't exactly know what Vincent was getting at. Slowly, he tried to reach down for Vincent's had as well, if only to mend what he thought he might have ruined, but the offer seemed to have vanished. Vincent brushed his hand away as if it was dust, and they kept walking in silence.

Leo found himself unhappy about it. He wanted to blame Vincent, -like he always did- not forgiving him for being hesitant, and for not telling him that somehow their relationship was trying to level up today. But even though he wanted to, he couldn't blame Vincent for it. He was bad at this, always had been; calling Vincent strange like it was some sort of excuse, downplaying their relationship at every chance he could, thinking of his dead teenage crush (Elliot Elliot Elliot) while they were together. He hadn't even been capable of saying they were dating -he always chased around that word, coming up with elaborate ways of describing and validating the strangeness of 'not dating.'

Leo was the weird one, and maybe Vincent knew that too.

Leo let those thoughts sink in, getting angrier and angrier at himself, and at Vincent for never calling him on his bullshit, not that it would have done them any good. Without giving it a second thought, Leo reached down and took Vincent's hand in his. He could feel Vincent lightly trying to pull out of it, but Leo refused to let go. For god sakes, they could hold hands on a deserted collage campus, in that strange hour between getting darker and before the street lights came on. They could manage that, and for damn sure, Vincent wasn't pussy footing out of it.

Eventually, Vincent seemed to give up trying to wrench his hand out of Leo's grip, and angled him a strange sort of look. "This isn't what I meant." Vincent's gaze turned down to their hands, and Leo's gaze followed. He could see Vincent's fingers turning red, and he couldn't tell if it was from the chill in the air, or the pressure of his hold. "You're going to cut off my circulation."

Leo narrowed his eyes, a motion that likely went unnoticed under his hair and thick glasses. "Well this is what you're getting. Stop complaining." Leo grumped at the blond, his foot falls more aggressive and his back straighter. They even passed a few people, and Leo didn't flinch. In fact, they didn't even look at them. They both had pretty long hair, so it probably looked like at least one of them was a girl, but somehow that made Leo even more angry.

He didn't notice his grip tighten, but he did hear Vincent's surprised intake of breath, before the blond was lightly glaring at him. "This is endearing and all, but I do actually need that hand." Still irritated by the whole thing, Leo grudgingly let go, and folded his arms over his chest in frustration.

They spent a moment in silence, Leo glaring at nothing, and Vincent shaking out his fingers, exaggerating the motions more than Leo thought he should. Eventually, Vincent offered his hand to Leo again, something a kin to a nice smile on his face -but on Vincent, that was marginally creepy. "Shall we try again?" Leo glared at him, sighed, shrugged, and placed his hand in Vincent's. But by the time that had happened, they were already within sight of the dorm, so even though they'd gotten it right that time -the hold was nice, and Leo found that Vincent's hand was warm in his, not cold and clammy- they didn't have long to maintain it. Just long enough to walk up the stairs to the third floor, get a suggestive look from the nosy girl across the hall -who had gone out of her way to catch him time and time again to ask if they were dating, to which he'd adamantly said no- and then reach his door.

They both seemed to hesitate once they'd made it there. The holding hands thing had worked and it was strange to just let it go without more practice -or at least that's what Leo though. But, they were at his dorm room, and he needed to get his key. Vincent seemed to see what sort of mental dilemma he was in, and nonchalantly let go of his hand to readjust the strap on his bag. Transversely, Leo went for the keys in his right pocket.

Getting the old key, to work in the old lock, and then actually move, was almost always a struggle. The dorm itself was very old -the oldest and cheapest of the ones still standing- and the locks were as old as the building itself. Thus it stood to reason that it almost always took him at least five minutes to get the damn thing to work, often more. He'd usually have to coax it in, wiggle it around, put it at a particular angle, try again, all repeated, until he finally got the damn thing in. Then, he'd have to try turning it, only to find that it wasn't going to move, and he'd have to repeat the process of jiggling it around, trying to get it to work, only to pull it out, and start all over again. For the first week he'd been there, he'd had to have the dorm manager do it, cause he'd been convinced that the key was not to his room. It was an irritating process in general, but one he'd grown used to. Some days he'd kick and cuss and rattle the knob in irritation. But most of the time, it was sort of just an accepted norm, some strange thing that he'd grown to expect, sort of like a tree growing around some large obtrusive obstacle.

That day, for whatever reason, they key went in without any coaxing, and turned properly on the first try. It actually gave him so much pause, that he ended up looking up at his room number, trying to see if he'd just gone to the wrong room. Of course it wasn't, his key wouldn't work in anyone else's room -or at least it wasn't suppose to- and even if it did, it likely wouldn't work any better than it normally did. But, for whatever reason, today the key had simply done its job, without any extra complaints or problems. That had never happened before, in the two years he'd lived there.

Leo was sucked into just how strange it was to have a lock that magically worked on the first try, when he heard Vincent next to him, and he did not sound horribly amused. "Leo, I'm sure there's no one in your dorm." The statement gave Leo pause. He hadn't even been thinking that. It had just been weird for his key to work so well. Downright strange, in fact. That had been plenty for his brain to contemplate without Vincent jumping to conclusions about someone waiting for him inside.

Vincent certainly couldn't see the look that flashed through Leo's eyes, but by his shift in posture, Leo had a feeling he'd sensed it none the less. "Should there be anyone in my dorm?" He shouldn't have asked it, should have just let it go, but there were alarm bells ringing in his head, and Vincent had been acting weird all day. Had it been to distract him? Did that make more sense than simple affection? Leo didn't know, but he did know that it was weird, and it sure as hell felt like Vincent was hiding something. "Vincent?"

The blond adopted that smile, the one that felt like head lice -don't ask how he knew that- the one that he hated, and Leo knew, without a doubt, that he was right. Something, was up. "Don't be silly, Leo. You watch far too many horror films."

-\|/-


	9. Chapter 9

The light from the lap top flashed and flickered in the darkness of Leo's dorm room, and the light reflected and glistened off of the metal of Vincent's key ring, one key dangling out of his left pocket, as if calling Leo.

As always, Vincent had fallen asleep five minutes into the movie, and was now slumped against Leo's left shoulder, his right hand lightly placed on Leo's lap, and his left sat motionlessly against his own waist. His head leaned squarely on Leo's left shoulder, and his hair tumbled over his face, tickling on Leo's flesh, but also hiding what Leo knew would be a peaceful expression, one he'd seen many times before.

As always, Vincent was out, likely for at least a few hours. The two of them were cuddled together in his dorm room, with Vincent's lap top running in front of them, but Leo couldn't bring himself to pay attention to the movie, even amidst the screams and demented creaking sounds.

Vincent had keys to most of the buildings on campus, and he kept all of those keys, on his key ring. Indeed that wasn't such a strange thing at all, but at that exact moment, those keys were all Leo could think about.

He couldn't solve everything, he knew that, and accepted it. There was no way he could figure out what that knocking was in Nightray Manor the night before, and why Gilbert had brought a gun with him to deal with it. That was dangerous, likely very dangerous. He didn't want to get messed up in Nightray business, and certainly not of that nature. He was arguably too far into Nightray business being in a relationship with Vincent, and hardly wanted to get any deeper. Leo had no illusions that the Nightray family had been in some very shady business in their long history, and that Vincent and Gilbert had inherited some of it, if not all. If he started poking around too much, he had no illusions that his closeness -imagined closeness?- to Vincent was going to save him.

He wasn't going to figure out why Nightray Manor unnerved him so much -because deep down he already knew and he never wanted to think about it (Elliot Elliot Elliot). The place had plenty of reasons to be unnerving, but every time he was there, it felt like his skin wanted to crawl off of him to get back out of it. Vincent said he watched to many movies about haunted houses, and that probably was true, but Nightray Manor was creepy, eerie, and always watching, with it's painted dead eyes. No horror movie could compare to that.

It was highly unlikely he was going to find out why Vincent had been acting weird all day. It was very possible that he was just being paranoid. He tended to think the worst of people, and Leo did have a habit of making Vincent out to be worse than he seemed. Leo had grown up second guessing himself and others (Elliot Elliot Elliot), so it only stood to reason that he thought the worst of Vincent at every turn, every opportunity. But what if Vincent really was setting him up for something, what then? Did it matter? Was it important? Would he find out ten years later when Vincent turned it into a funny joke about hiding thing in his room that he'd never find? Leo didn't know, and likely wouldn't know until Vincent told him. He didn't even know if he was reading too much into it, which was also possible.

But of all the things Leo didn't know, that key ring did hold one answer. If he could get his hand on it, he could stow away to the theater building, and open that basement. Maybe there wouldn't be anything there, but the chance that something (someone) was down there was something Leo wouldn't be able to ignore. He could make a copy before Vincent noticed, and he could wait until that song came back, until he heard Statice again, for the second time in eight years -cause he hadn't dared play it since Elliot had left, had almost thrown it away a million times before delicately putting it back at the bottom of his drawer. Then, he'd be ready. With that key, he could figure that out, solve that mystery. Because he had to know who was playing that song, how they knew it, why the basement, why the piano, why Elliot's song.

He might have been able to live with not knowing if that key ring hadn't been there - like he'd been able to live after Elliot left, with his head in the ground and bitter- but it _was_ there, taunting him in the dim light. He felt like Eve, curiously looking at the apple as it hung innocently in the tree. And that voice, that voice that repeated 'no' like a metronome in his head, was hissing 'yes'.

It surprised Leo how easy it was. He simply reached over, and took the keys out of Vincent's pocket. He'd had a harder time holding hands an hour or so before, and what exactly did that say about him? It didn't matter, he had the keys. He'd expected Vincent to grab his hand and reprimand him, cause it had been too easy. Vincent knew he wanted in that basement, and Leo hadn't seen him with the keys earlier in the day. It could have been his imagination, but Leo was almost positive that Vincent had gone back to the Nightray Manor, just to get those keys, and they were so high up in his pocket, not buried at all, easily visible and easily accessible. It felt like a set up, and when Vincent didn't stir, Leo wondered if he was right or not.

But he'd already taken the keys, with them in hand, there was no way Leo wasn't going to that basement. It just wasn't going to happen. With them in hand, the urge was insatiable, he couldn't think of anything else.

Leo tried to move, but he felt Vincent shift into him, nuzzling into his shoulder, and Leo had to rethink it. If he just up and left, Vincent would probably wake up in the process of it, and then he'd have to explain why he'd stolen the blond's keys, even though Vincent should have known full well why he wanted them. Carefully, Leo rearranged Vincent, easing him into a more horizontal position than a vertical one, and quietly, he rose to his feet. Leo was headed towards the door, when he heard Vincent groan, likely at the loss of warmth, and the darker haired male winced. He quietly turned back around, and draped a few more blankets over the blond, hoping it would do.

On his way out the door, he grabbed his old ratty tennis shoes, wallet and keys, both discarded on the dresser. He'd come back with ice cream just in case Vincent was awake when he returned, and he needed an excuse, but he hoped the blond would still be asleep.

-\|/-


	10. Chapter 10

It was chilly outside, for a person unprepared for it. Leo was dressed in only his hand me down pajamas, the ones that would have been red ten years ago, and were not more of a light rust than anything else, with patches of various colors, for when he'd ripped them in places. They were old, worn, but still quite warm despite everything. That did help, but Leo cursed at himself for not at least bringing a jacket, and rubbed his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to keep himself warm.

It wasn't horribly late yet, if it had been a week day, he likely would have seen students wandering around, going home from night classes, trudging back from the library, or heading off to their parties, but as it happened, Leo didn't see anyone on his little walk. The theater building wasn't far away, and with any luck, Leo would be able to just nip this whole rumor thing in the bud that evening, and retrieve his backpack and book -which he had carelessly abandoned the night before. Thankfully, there likely hadn't been a soul in the theater building since he'd made his hasty retreat the night before, so his things would probably still be there, undisturbed. It was a good thing, he didn't need more damaged or lost library books -the librarian already wanted to ban him.

Leo had anticipated some sort of dread, some climactic realization about himself on that trip, because that was always what happened in movies before shit hit the fan. The main characters would divulge something important about themselves, how the journey had changed them for the better or the worse and there would be a hopeful moment of clarity, before said enlightened character was brutally stabbed to death. Leo had expected that moment of clarity, had likely been building up this whole thing far too much in his head, and when it didn't come, he found himself slightly unnerved by it. In fact, he was to absorbed in his thoughts, that it seemed like one moment he was dashing out of his dorm, and the next time he blinked, he was standing in front of the dark, uninhabited theater building. In the light of day, or even with the inside lights on, the glass doors of the theater building were large and welcoming, but in the darkness, they only looked foreboding, the distant light of a street lamp the only thing giving some indication of what horrors lay inside.

Leo scoffed at himself, he really was watching to many horror films.

It took him a prolonged bit of trial and error to find the right key, cycling through any key that would fit and trying to get it to turn. But Vincent had a lot of keys on the key ring, so it just stood to reason that it would take a while. Of course, Vincent hadn't labeled any of them. Perhaps to spite him, not that it would have done any good in the low light, but it was still an irritating thought that crossed his mind.

Leo did finally find the key that both fit and turned in the lock, and with one aggressive tug, the door was open, and Leo hurried inside. The minute the door suctioned closed behind him, taking the wind and the chill of the night out of the equation, Leo could hear it. It sounded far away, but that made sense if it really was coming from the basement. Said basement was a good distance from where he'd entered the building, so who ever was playing (Elliot Elliot Elliot) was playing much, much louder than the last time Leo had heard it. It was actually odd -a bit unnerving, really- that regardless of the distance, Leo could hear Statice wafting up from below him, from in front of him, leading his way, and like a starving man following the scent of food, Leo had no choice in following the melody.

Even the darkness of the theater building -only interrupted by the occasional dim glow of soda machines- didn't seem to stop him. Leo's feet moved on instinct, somehow knowing exactly where he needed to go to get to that sound, that melody, Elliot's song. And he moved fast, he didn't run, but his pace was hurried, and he honestly couldn't tell if the sweat on his brow was from his fast pace, or how unnerving the song sounded. The night before, it had sounded right, just like Leo had remembered it, lively and beautiful, with just a hint of a faster pace; as he was drawn to it, Leo realized that the song he was hearing, despite being the same, was very different. The song sounded impatient -almost harried- like someone running, but also despondent, and desperate at the same stroke. The best way he could think of it, was that the playing of Statice he'd heard the night before, could easily set a sad but sweet tone in a movie, something that would make you go 'awww'. The version of Staice he was hearing right then, was more of a chase scene, and not the kind where the hero was chasing the bad guy, the kind where the young girl was being chased. The lively candor and life the song had held in his memories seemed long gone to this player, and Leo wondered how it could even be the same person playing, let alone the same song. This Statice sounded wrong, the wrong arrangement, and hurried fingers, and he wondered if he had imagining everything, if he was imagining that this had every been Statice. He hadn't heard it in eight years he could have gotten it wrong, it could have just been very similar.

But really, none of that mattered. Come hell or high water, he was going to find out what was down in that basement. He'd already betrayed Vincent for it, there was no turning back on it now. The voice in his head was screaming at him instead of staying calm and collected, and he couldn't ignore it, had pushed it away to many times.

Before he knew it, he was at the top of the stairs, the long hallway that led down, down, down to that steel door, with a knob that likely hadn't been turned since the Nightrays had decided whatever was down there would stay down there in perpetuity -because Vincent knew, he had to know, if it had been nothing, he wouldn't have hid it.

The song completed, as he took his first step down into the dark stairs of the basement, extending his hand to rest on the cool concrete wall to his right. But it only lasted for a heartbeat, before Statice started again, like someone had clicked the repeat button.

Leo didn't have enough presence to think about placing his feet carefully in front of him. In fact, he was almost amazed at himself when he made it all the way down, without any light, and without stumbling on the steps. He was simply reaching down for the next one when his foot only hit solid ground below him, and he stopped. Leo felt his hands shaking, but he couldn't hear the keys jingling, Statice was to loud, deafening and maddening as it bounced and shrieked around his head. He couldn't see enough to figure out where the knob was, so he had to grope around in the darkness for it, and when he finally did find it, he gripped it firmly in his right hand, and twisted, almost on instinct.

Statice stopped. The whole building was thrust into silence, vociferous silence, and Leo found he couldn't bring himself to even breath. He struggled not to just turn tail and run, the sound of the keys jingling in his shaking hand now the only sound he could hear in the deserted theater building. He wished he just knew which key it was, which key was going to work, because with his shaking, getting any of them in the knob was increasingly difficult, not to mention he was working in the dark.

He'd struggled with several, when one finally fit into the lock. His breathing hitched again, and he told himself there was nothing there, it really was just a ghost, his imagination, anything that he could rationally explain. Leo was reaching to turn the key, when arms draped around his shoulders.

Leo froze, not even able to scream in his distress, when a long finger skirted over his lips, and blond hair tumbled over his shoulders. He felt lips next to his ear, and a soft 'shhhh' flutter into his ear. Then he was being pulled back, up the stairs, and away. He looked over to see Vincent, the low light making him difficult to see, but Leo recognized that one red eye, could see it was not playful or understanding, but seething mad.

They were three steps up, when something on the other side of the door started banging on it. The sudden loss of that horrible silence was only replaced by loud, fervent banging of whatever was on the other side of that door, and without thinking Leo turned right back around, and tried reaching for that key. Something was there, and he had to know what. But he didn't get far, Vincent was much faster than Leo could have anticipated, grabbing his shoulder and almost violently hurtling him back, all to the frantic sound of something wanting out of that basement.

Leo stumbled, and was going to fall when Vincent caught him, and almost effortlessly hoisted Leo over his shoulder. Then they were traveling up again, and there was nothing Leo could do, but watch as he got farther and farther from that door.

Vincent dumped him on the scratched tile of the theater building when they'd reached the first floor, and all Leo could hear was that pounding. He thought he could hear a voice with it too, but it could have been the wind outside, it could have been his own ragged breathing, it could have been anything. The two of them just stayed there. Vincent staring off in front of himself, and Leo unflatteringly seated on the floor, his arms behind to steady himself, and his legs spread out in front of him. They seemed stuck like that, Leo unable to comprehend what exactly was even happening, and Vincent lost in his own thoughts.

Eventually, the banging stopped, but only a split second later, the music started up again, just as maddening, and heartbreaking as before. Leo would have rushed down those stairs again, if he could have brought himself to move, but that still seemed like an impossible feat.

The song did break Vincent out of whatever trance he'd found himself in. He turned away from Leo, retrieved a flashlight from his pocket, and clicked it on. He seemed to be looking around for something, but Leo was to absorbed in the fact that his back was turned, he could probably make it back down those dark stairs and turn that key. Leo shifted his eyes, and he could see the key glistening, the only thing down there that reflected any light back at him. He wondered about Pandora and her box, of how she let out all the horrors of the world. But he also remembered the part of that story that everyone forgot; at the bottom of that box had been hope, you couldn't have one without the other.

Leo had acted on his decision before he'd even realized he'd made it. He scrambled to his feet, Statice urging him on, and bounded down the stairs, two at a time, surprised he didn't lose his footing and tumble down. He heard Vincent shout his name from the top of the stairs, before he could hear the blond's hurried foot falls, but Vincent couldn't stop him now.

He reached the bottom, grasped for the glistening key, turned it, and swung the door open.

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
